“Yes, they can,” Mercy said firmly.
No matter what Dross wanted her to do, it wouldn’t hurt as badly as seeing Pride so badly hurt. She didn’t want to go through that again, not so soon, and not with Lindon and Yerin.
“What do you need from me?”
[Your bloodline,] Dross said.
“What do you want from me now?” Orthos rumbled.
He didn’t have the non-lethal abilities the others did, so he’d stuck to his strengths: running around and eliminating dreadbeasts, bloodspawn, and piles of debris that blocked the way of the humans fleeing down Mount Samara.
It had been surprisingly fun. And then Dross interrupted him.
[Normally, there’s nothing an Underlord can do to a Dreadgod. But since it’s in Sacred Valley, it’s a little more subject to physical laws—]
“Underlord? Who said I was an Underlord?”
[You…you know Lindon can feel you, right? If Lindon can feel it, I can feel it. He hasn’t been thinking about it, but it’s clear to me that you used the treasures inside Lindon’s void key to advance. That wasn’t supposed to be a surprise, was it?]
If Orthos could move his body, he would have turned away to chew on a nearby rock. Or some nice, soft wood.
[Even the others can sense you,] Dross went on, driving the knife deeper. [You had to know they would all recognize it immediately.]
“There is nothing wrong with a little celebration,” Orthos said with great dignity.
[N-no! No, and in fact, I can make it even better than a surprise! A huge event! You’ll really, ooohhh, you’ll really show them. They’ll say, ‘Underlord Orthos is so great, I can’t believe that we ever cared about him before. I really hate who he used to be. Compared to now, I mean. Just…just hate him.’]
That was possibly the worst sales pitch Orthos had ever heard.
But he was still intrigued.
“I’m listening,” he said.
Eithan’s entire body was pain.
He lay in a pile of twisted limbs in the rubble that had once been the peak of Mount Samara, silently counting his broken bones. He had blocked the madra with his own, then cushioned the impact of his fall with aura while strengthening his Archlord body with soulfire.
Even so, he hadn’t fully recovered his power since spending so long in Sacred Valley, and here he was back in it again. Not to mention that he had taken a blow from the Titan head-on.
There were parts of the world where “hitting like a Dreadgod” was a common saying. It did not do the experience justice.
He realized immediately when Dross contacted him and accelerated his perception of time. It happened when he was in the middle of tenderly extending one thread of madra to activate his void key, hoping to pull out some more of his medical supplies. He’d drunk more medicine than water, these past few days; clearly he was off his game.
“How many ways have you split yourself, Dross?” Eithan asked, before the spirit had fully manifested to him.
[Six,] Dross panted. [It’s…a lot, but I’m fine. Maybe. I’m probably fine.]
“Well, don’t waste your valuable time on me,” he said. “Just tell me my role.” He admired how sprightly his voice still sounded, despite the state of his ribs. And every other part of his body.
[Perfect! The Titan is going to throw a Striker technique at Lindon, and I need you to stop it from hitting him.]
“Where? I’m not quite as ambulatory as usual.”
[We’ll get you down, don’t worry. Just worry about stopping the technique. Please do worry about that.]
Eithan tried to make a gesture of agreement, but his hand was trapped beneath his body. And it pulsed with pain, except for his fingertips, which were completely numb.
That could be a problem, he thought.
“No problem!” he said.
Dross made a relieved sound and vanished, leaving Eithan alone to think. That was good, because he needed the time.
How was he supposed to block a Dreadgod’s technique in this condition?
When time froze, the pressure on Yerin didn’t let up. From her perspective, the sky was covered by the Wandering Titan’s foot, and while it hadn’t plunged down on her yet, it couldn’t be far off.
The pressure she felt was from the Titan’s spirit, pressing down on her almost as heavily as if the Dreadgod was already standing on her. She held her two swords above her, crossed white and black, and she had already begun filling them with madra and soulfire.
She didn’t know how many of those stomps she could take, but she wouldn’t be able to escape fast enough with its will weighing her down anyway. So she would weather the first one, then hope somebody else pulled the Titan off her before she was smeared to paste.
Yerin had prepared herself, so when Dross showed up, he was more of a distraction than anything.
“Spit it out,” Yerin growled. She was still under the Dreadgod’s spiritual pressure, and time not passing was only extending that agony.
Dross breathed harshly as he spoke. [Sorry…I’m…doing a lot…right now.]
Even in her situation, Yerin felt concern worry its way into her heart. She couldn’t exactly move her eyes, but she focused on Dross. “You solid, Dross?”
He fixed her with a stare, pulling himself together. [Yeah, no problem, nothing to worry about. Listen, we need something from you, but it’s going to be…it won’t be much fun for you, I’ll say that.]
“You see where I’m standing right now, true? Would you contend I’m on a holiday?”
[We need you to hold the Titan in place so Lindon can hit it. You’ll need to use your sword.]
She shifted her attention to her master’s blade. For the most part, she had avoided using its binding since advancing during the Uncrowned King tournament. “Madra’s not like it used to be. Could use Netherclaw, if that’ll work.”
[It, uh, it won’t.]
A queasy sense of nausea passed through her. “Sword will make it through, though, right?”
Dross hesitated.
“Dross?”
[I think this is one of those times where I’m supposed to lie, but I don’t have a whole lot of time. You’ll have to overload the sword. No way around it, unless you’re ready to advance to Archlord. That would solve a lot of my problems today, actually.]
Even if she were, she couldn’t do it here in Sacred Valley, and Dross knew that.
“Winter Sage. She can fix it, though, true?”
Dross bobbed upward in the air as he brightened. [Could be! That’s certainly a real possibility!]
No sense hesitating. She had agreed to risk her life here, for people that Lindon didn’t even really know. She’d be cracked in the head if she wasn’t willing to risk one weapon.
“Got it. Grab my eye when you want me.”
[I’ll have to signal the others, but you…just do it when the foot comes down, all right?]
“Not likely to forget that one.”
[You won’t have to remember it for long, because I can’t hold this anymore. You ready?]
She tried to nod. Dross must have gotten the picture, because the world came roaring back to normal speed.
The Titan’s foot came down.
19
Lindon didn’t hear what Dross said to the other five. He just felt the spirit splitting his attention so many different ways, and time stood still while Dross delivered his instructions.
When he finished, everything happened at once.
The Titan’s foot came down. Yerin’s madra flared beneath it, so powerful that it felt like she was pouring her entire spirit into one attack. But it wasn’t an attack; white mist and points of ice-cold light burst into being around her, consuming the Titan up to the knee.